


Healing

by forestofmyown



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert, Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofmyown/pseuds/forestofmyown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh is staying at your cabin, recovering from his possession by the wendigo spirit.  You, of course, are head over heals--and pretty overprotective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

It doesn’t matter how many times Josh’s friends come to visit him at your parents’ cabin—you always suddenly feel like an outsider in your own home. The guy who, during his stay to recover from being possessed by a Wendigo spirit, has become your best friend has his own friends, his own life outside of his unlicensed, unorthodox therapy. 

And you can’t tell the difference between your own jealousy and your very valid anger at these people who, in your opinion, were the cause of everything that had happened to Josh. You’ve tried to work through both of those things—it’s been difficult. After learning everything that had happened to this guy from a combination of your parents' and his own stories, you’d been understandably resentful of them—some more than others, of course. 

Chris, you like. He seems harmless enough, dorky and well meaning. He could have been a better friend, though. They all could have. Let the guy with a history of mental instability get so drunk he passes out? Were none of these kids the least bit responsible?

You try not to grind your teeth at that. They were just normal teenagers. You let out a sigh. You can’t change the past.

Ashley is Chris’ new girlfriend. She’s been mostly timid and sweet around you. You don’t mind her much, either, except when you think about the things Josh has told you. You can’t blame her for not wanting to die, you tell yourself. 

You are so angry about so many things, though. But you are glad no one died.

Well, no one else. Not after Josh’s sisters.

Sam, you’ve heard little to nothing bad about. Josh thinks rather highly of her, in fact. There’s a different kind of jealously there—very different.

Matt tends to pale behind his girlfriend Emily’s strong personality, but there’s a respect there born from what they’ve been through together that makes them look rather sweet together. It’s hard to picture Matt being involved in that cruel prank that got Hannah and Beth killed, but you can see it—he’s playful and a people pleaser. Emily, however, you can easily believe would want to be part of punishing someone for liking someone who was hers. There’s something admirable in her tenacity—you try to focus on that, on the good things about these people, instead of the bad.

It’s hard. When you see the scarring where the stitches were that held together the left side of Josh’s face, repairing the damage his partial transformation had done, you want someone to punish for it. To pay. To blame.

You’re biased, though. You know it. You keep repeating that to yourself, watching from the back of the room as Josh smiles and socializes with his visitors. Watching—more like guarding, really. Ready to step in at any moment. Waiting for them to say or do the wrong thing and upset Josh.

You’re more than a little overprotective. Who can blame you? After how Josh was when your parents first brought him home. The weeks he spent working through everything. The bad days.

Great heavens above, the bad days.

He’s smiling now, laughing. The tears and the screams in your memories are just that—just memories. 

Jessica is the most visibly changed by what happened besides Josh. The girl is covered in scars. As the person who originally planned the prank that spurred all the events that came after, you have to make extra effort to feel bad for her. After all, her dreams are ruined—she’d wanted to be a model. But so are Hannah’s and Beth’s. 

She’s nice enough to you, though, so it’s easy enough to be nice right back.

And then there’s Mike. Mike, who was totally willing to trick Hannah. Mike, who hit Josh with a gun. Mike, who dragged Josh out and tied him up and left him there. Mike, who literally hid and left Josh to die.

He’s the hardest for you to hold your temper around. You know what Josh did, and you know there’s no excuse. He was wrong, too. But you don’t forgive Mike. You don’t.

Mike acts so friendly. Josh has worked so hard, come so far, and has made such immense strides towards forgiving his friends. It’s part of his healing. You, who have nothing to heal from, are holding on to the anger Josh has tossed away.

He turns then, and smiles at you, motions you towards the group. Frowning, you shoot the most neutral expression you can manage around to each one of them before slowly stepping forward to stand slightly behind Josh, at his shoulder. 

“So.” Jessica smiles at you. “You’re not very talkative.”

It’s an in for you, an ice breaker. None of them have any idea what you feel for them. To them, you are a relative stranger. Just the kid of the Cree couple taking care of Josh who he’s befriended. You know that Josh has mentioned you rather often in his phone calls to them—he doesn’t normally mind you being in the room when he talks. Of course, there’s not much else to mention besides the actual therapy (getting over being possessed by a Wendigo isn’t easy, especially with pre-existing mental illness, not to mention traumatic experiences, but there isn’t really a licensed psychiatrist who would believe that, so the duty fell to your parents and their until-recently theoretical and ancestral knowledge of Wendigos). 

When Josh is doing well, you guys walk to town or take rides around the woods (both horseback and on dirtbikes—it’s summer, so there’s little snow at the base of the mountain where your cabin is). Your family has been worried about isolating him too much, or him becoming dependent on any of you. So far, it hasn’t been a problem.

Josh’s parents visit as much as they can. You can tell that, after losing their two girls and almost losing Josh a year later, they are willing to do just about anything for him. They’re good people. Busy, rich, and easily distracted, but obviously well meaning. They love their son. And they are afraid for him.

Josh is chuckling. You haven’t answered Jessica. They are all staring at you. You shoot Josh a look, quirking your brow, and then shrug.

“I guess I’m not.”

“Y/N’s sense of humor is pretty lacking, too.” Josh informs them with a strange amount of pride. “I always consider it a testament to my skills as an entertainer when I can get them to laugh or banter with me.”

That’s true enough. It’s hard to have a sense of humor when good-natured pranks are what got your new friend into this mess. Besides, you were homeschooled and spend more time on the internet and playing video games than socializing with real people—your humor doesn’t translate as well in real life as it does online.

“So Y/N’s a stick in the mud.” Chris asks, his expression playful.

“My stick in the mud.” Josh wraps an arm around your shoulder and gives you a shake.

That does make you grin, and the awkward mood shifts to a more friendly atmosphere. You remain at Josh’s side a while longer, but when conversations drift into territory you deem safe, you slip backwards towards the kitchen to fix dinner for everyone. There’s no division in the cabin between the kitchen and the living room, so you never have to take your eyes off Josh, and you can keep an ear out for their topics. 

Your parents are out staying with your aunt, mostly as an excuse to let Josh have his visit unsupervised. You’d offered to go, too, but he’d insisted you stay. He said he feels more grounded with you around.

Dinner is, of course, one of Josh’s favorites. Things stay pretty cheerful, for which you are grateful, and the group gathers around the TV for a late night of movies before everyone moves to the upstairs bedrooms to crash around three in the morning. The girls, despite quite a few eye rolls, get ushered into your room, while the guys are across the hall in what used to be the guest room and has since been officially dubbed Josh’s room. There’s plenty of floor space in both for the guests to lay out blankets and make makeshift beds.

You hesitate in the hall, wondering where you should sleep. You suppose your parents’ bed downstairs is open. You don’t really want to take your bed with the girls, and though you’ve slept in the same room with Josh too many times for it to bother you anymore, it’s still weird to stay with all the guys. Both groups are relative strangers. Moving to head down the stairs, Josh’s appearance in his doorway stops you.

“Hey, where are you going?”

You nod towards the bottom of the stairs. “I figured I’d take my parents’ bed.”

“No way, Y/N.” Josh grins, shaking his head, and motions you his way. “Get in here.”

You cock a brow. “You sure? I mean, it’s a room full of guys, and you do remember I like guys, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “You gonna jump every guy in the room?”

Your face wrinkles in distaste. “No.”

“What a coincidence, no one in here is gonna jump you, either. I think we’re all good.”

Shaking your head, you never the less back up and follow Josh into his room. Even he’s made a pallet on the floor, leaving the bed empty. You do the same. No one has enough energy left after the long day to stay awake any longer, and no one even looks up as you settle beside Josh.

They all take off the next morning. Josh is all smiles, slapping people on the back and hugging everyone, welcoming them back anytime and promising lots of calls to keep in touch. You get a few hugs, as well, and ‘thank yous’ for helping Josh. And then everyone is gone, and the house is empty again, as usual. You let out a relieved breath; you aren’t used to being so social, fun or not.

Josh looks so smug, grinning at you out of the corner of his eye, that you know he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“Come on. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He nudges you, and you stumble sideways a few steps.

The smile slips right off Josh’s face and he closes the distance again, reaching for you even as you regain your balance.

“I’m fine.” You’re reassuring him before you’re even standing still again. “I’m fine, Josh. The ground just slants down towards the creek, that’s all.”

“I’m-m s-sorry,” he says anyway, his expression that heartbreaking equivalent to a kicked puppy that hurts you so much.

“You didn’t hurt me, Josh.” You continue calmly. “I just stumbled.”

He stares down at the ground, hands falling to his sides again. “I thought I had the hang of … all this.”

He gestures vaguely to all of himself, but you know what he means. The scars aren’t the only thing left over from his possession, after all. The unnatural strength, while not on par with a full wendigo, is still part of him, something he’s really had to work at getting used to.

“What if I’d have done that to one of the girls?” His voice is barely a whisper.

You snort. “They might have fallen down, got a little dirt on their clothes? You didn’t exactly hulk out, Josh.”

Though, with Josh’s strength, that’s a valid concern. His vision isn’t as good as it used to be, either, from what he tells you. He’s debated on getting glasses, but isn’t sure it will help. He’s definitely colorblind now, unlike before. His hearing is better, though, and his reflexes and movements are much faster. His teeth had to be filed when he first arrived, too, and his nails have to be cut almost every week. They’re unnaturally thick and sharp, and he can’t use nail clippers; they break. His fingers are longer, and he’s taller than before. Taller than all his friends, certainly.

His temper, though, combined with his strength and speed are what worry him. And his mental illnesses. He worries about losing control or making bad decisions. If Josh is anything, it’s caring, and there’s nothing that hurts him more than the thought of hurting others.

His actions at the lodge cause him anguish now. His revenge did nothing for his healing like he’d hoped, and he regrets it.

Josh regrets a lot.

And Josh is afraid of a lot.

“You did good, Joshua,” you tell him, reaching out and putting a hand on his head, ruffling his hair lightly.

The tension starts to visibly leave his shoulders, his body relaxing.

“It was almost like old times.” His voice is calmer, a hint of a smile there despite his hidden face. Then he’s suddenly shaking with laughter. “Oh my goodness, Ashley trying not to stare at my scar?”

You cringe. “She wasn’t doing a good job.”

Josh snorts, and you’re glad he’s taking this with such good humor. “I was more impressed with Jess. She didn’t even flinch, man.”

“She’s got her share.”

“Yeah, yeah she does.” He finally looks up, wide grin and happy crinkles around the edges of his eyes. “I think we’re all gonna be okay, you know?”

“Of course you are.”

There’s only have a second to register Josh’s face morphing into a devious smirk before he shoves you. Toppling backward, you grab wildly for purchase and latch onto Josh’s shirt, tugging him with you. The added weight only makes you fall faster, and you both end up toppling into the shallow creek with a loud splash.

The water seeps into your clothes quickly, and you shiver; it’s, thankfully, a warm morning, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to suddenly be soggy. Josh is laughing his head off.

You can’t even be mad; not at his obvious joy, his carefree expression, or the step forward he made trusting himself to push you into the water without hurting you. His good mood lifts your heart, and suddenly you rush forward, tackling him at an angle and shoving him backward, so that now he’s on his backside in the water like you were. You rise up above him on your knees, smiling in triumph.

He gazes up at you with his cheeky little half grin, chin pulled down so his eyes are shining beneath his dark lashes. You don’t think he knows what that look does to you, but it certainly seems like it. Josh plays you like a fiddle some times.

“I saw that,” he says playfully.

“Saw what?” You shoot back.

“You just fell a little in love with me.”

You can’t help it; you snort. You’d fallen in love with Josh a long time ago—this is nothing.

He starts laughing, too, all the while trying to look chagrined. “Come on, admit it. You did—just a little.”

Standing up, you splash some water at him. “Shut up, Josh.”

“You know you did!” He calls after you, still laughing.

Ignoring him, you head back to the house. The soggy footsteps behind you let you know he’s following. He catches up easily, and you push him away.

“I’m heading upstairs to change, you can take the bathroom—your clean laundry’s in the dryer, anyway.”

“Sure you don’t want to join me?”

You shake your head and open the door. “Shut up, Josh.”

Racing into the house, you head for the stairs and take them two at a time. Josh calls after you, “Too tempting? It’s okay, I understand!”

Your heart is racing when you finally close your bedroom door behind you, and it has nothing to do with the run upstairs. You quickly strip your wet clothes and toss them out the sliding door onto the porch and rummage through your closet for a towel and something else to wear. There isn’t much—yesterday was laundry day, and that was forgotten in the excitement of Josh’s friends visiting. Your clothes are either in the washer or waiting to be next. You end up in a pair of sweats that had been hiding under your bed and one of Josh’s tank tops that had somehow found it’s way into your room—both are probably dirty, but they don’t smell and at least they’re dry.

Taking an extra moment before heading downstairs, you pick back up your wet clothes and hang them over the rails on the porch to sun dry, hoping the weather stays nice.

Josh is already on the couch when you get to the living room, curled up beside one of the arms. He hasn’t even bothered with a shirt, and is only wearing jeans. That is not helping your overworked heart one bit.

“Seriously, Josh?” You can’t help but ask.

His grin is slow and very full of itself, crooked and beautiful. He cocks a brow. “Still too tempting?”

Hesitating a moment, you get an idea. Your answering smirk is so devious it makes Josh’s eyes go wide. 

“Y/N—”

You launch yourself onto the couch, arms reaching out, fingers wiggling before they even reached their destination—the bare skin of Josh’s stomach and sides. He flinches back immediately, curling in on himself in an attempt to block your roaming hands. He has little success, as you maneuver beneath his elbows and he squirms, barking with laughter, under your tickle attack.

Josh wants you to have a sense of humor, then he can deal with the consequences—and you can use it to cover up those awkward feelings you have that you’re trying to ignore.

Speaking of those feelings, the position you two are now was probably a bad move. Why did you think straddling a shirtless Josh on your couch and touching him all over was a good idea? 

He tries shifting beneath you, his face moving closer, and you suck in a breath as covertly as possible. Then he’s moving back again, and you let out the air in relief, but it’s short lived as he shuffles all the way onto his back and your fingers slide down over an especially sensitive spot and suddenly his hips buck up and grind against yours.

You gasp, entire body freezing. Electricity shoots through you, heart hammering, and your stomach twists as your affection morphs into arousal so quickly there’s no way to even attempt to hide it.

Josh goes still beneath you, and your eyes lock. 

Oh, no. No no no—

You raise up and move back, trying to extricate yourself from Josh and climb off the couch, but instead you trip yourself up on one of his legs. In almost the reverse of what happened earlier at the creek, Josh reaches to grab you, trying to pull you back to him, but your toppling sideways cannot be stopped. You just end up tugging him off the couch and into the floor with you—along with all the couch cushions that just slide off and flip over on top of you both.

Covered in cushions, tangled in Josh’s legs, and with your back now aching where it hit the coffee table, you shuffle around, tossing cushions away—and find yourself, despite your efforts and your pain, in almost the exact same position as before, except now you’re both in the floor and you’re the one between his legs.

Josh bats a cushion off the top of his head, and the awkwardness is momentarily forgotten as you ask, “You okay?”

“Just dan—” He meets your eyes again, and trails off. “—dy …”

He’s got one arm partially still on the couch, but the rest of him is sprawled beneath you. And he is certainly something to look at—hairless chest, golden skin, sharp angles, that boyish charm, dark, thick hair, strong jaw, those big, beautiful eyes … and his lips. Those strangely appealing lips, that always draw you in, whether it’s his smile, or when he bites one with worry, the way he rolls them, toys with them when he’s not speaking …

Oh, how far gone are you?

Too far gone. He’s staring up at you, and you can’t move. Can’t look away. Can’t even catch your breath right; each one comes stuttering out, painfully loud in the heavy silence.

“… Y/N?”

You should move. You ought to climb off him, put some distance between the two of you, like you’d been trying to do before. But you’re still frozen, still staring at his wide eyes, gaze flickering down to those lips …

You’re going to ruin this. Ruin everything. Josh is your friend, your parents’ charge, and he trusts you. What are you doing? Move move MOVE.

“Kiss me.”

Your breathing literally stops.

Josh eyes flit back and forth between yours. His mouth opens slightly, and it’s only to add—to beg— “Please?”

You suck in one shuddering, deep breath of air—and then lean in. Slowly, barely believing this is happening, that he asked, that he wants—

Your head turns just a tiny bit, your noses brush, your foreheads lean together, and then your lips meld. Oh, he tastes as good as he looks, feels better than you could of ever dreamed, soft and chapped and slick, the scent of him flooding your senses, the warmth of his closeness overwhelming. Everywhere, all around you, in your head, is all just Josh, Josh, Josh, with every pound of your heart. 

One hand goes to the floor to hold you up, the other goes to his face to run your thumb along his cheek—this left cheek, his scar—and he’s leaning back, and you’re leaning forward, and his hands wrap around you and you have him practically pinned down, moving slowly against his lips, savoring.

Kiss piles upon kiss, and you dread the thought of moving apart as his arms roam along your back, but after a few more moments you do pull away, just far enough to see his face, his eyes, to make sure this is still okay.

Josh has been through so much. The last thing you want is to take advantage of him, of the unintentional symbol of stability you’ve become in his life beside your parents. You would never betray his trust like that.

He’s breathing just as hard as you are, and his eyes are heavy lidded, but he cocks a crooked grin at you and asks breathlessly, “How long have you wanted to do that?”

You try to keep your answer short, but your voice still cracks a little. “Ages.”

He huffs a tiny laugh. “Well, don’t stop now.”

“You sure?”

Both brows go up this time, and one of his hands makes its way up your body, wraps around the back of your head, and pulls you back down as he raises up to meet you. Your return kiss is so fervent, Josh is flat on the floor again in seconds. He doesn’t complain.


End file.
